‘Born Fighter Love’ is one of the more pro-love sonnets in my personification series. It began with a simple thought; Love has all the attributes of a fighter. Love can inflict pain using skill, insight and experience. Logic concludes that Love is a fierce combatant. We’ve all experienced its ire. We’ve felt the pain of battling irrepressible, ferocious Love.
But, like the martial devices they use, fighters themselves are double-edged swords. One person’s freedom fighter is another’s terrorist. A Parachute Regiment company commander once told me he stood as a character witness for a soldier facing charges of public affray. His defence was to explain that this solder, arrested brawling outside a pub, was doing what he had been trained to do. He had been conditioned to fight, taught to respond violently when under threat. The officer elaborated by explaining that this soldier’s nation, the overarching institution of which the court system was merely a constituent part, required him to have a violent disposition.
So, in this sonnet, we have ‘Born Fighter Love’ – the pugilist who ignores the rules. The indefatigable, indomitable, invincible Love.
Born Fighter Love Born Fighter Love hits like a charging ox But do not hope for respite while it turns, This pugilist will stand its ground and box With flaming fists that leave bruises and burns. Combatant Love will dumb your rattled brain, Make your eyes stream with cochineal slush, Land blow salvos that inflict searing pain With force that lungs like concertinas crush. Deft brawler Love mishears the Queensbury Rules: Targets weak spots to knock you to your knees Draws diamond tears to set in its Crown Jewels It won’t be turned by mournful cries, or pleas. No threat will make this militant retreat; No ally will help more when you feel beat.